Limelight
by Lilian
Summary: Because everyone in the Briefs family is a diva.


****Limelight****

by Lilian

**Author's Notes:** this little ficlet was born after I first saw that awesome 'Vegeta-Briefs family red carpet' fanart .us/posts/1562515 (does anyone have the official artist's link? I wanna give proper credit where it's due). I couldn't resist. First time writing these characters, although I've been a long time reader!

**Disclaimer**: not mine, just borrowing them for a while.

* * *

The camera flashes were blinding. Bulma had grown up in the spotlight, spent most of her formative and adult years in it (when not gallivanting on intergalactic dragon ball hunts, of course), and yet every time she heard the snack-crackle-pop of another flash, she instinctively turned towards it and preened.

"Enjoying yourself, mom?"

Trunk's whisper was directly in her ear, lost to the paparazzo but crisp and sharp to her. She smirked, flashing her million-dollar smile at the cameras, knowing they'd catch the glitter of her gold necklace as she half-turned to face him. "Can't blame a girl for trying," she told him, winking, causing the reporters to explode into another frenzy of flashes and screaming questions. Trunks shook his head, a strand of lavender hair escaping his gelled 'do, and Bulma swore she heard teenage hearts stop and people faint. He smirked back, and there, right there, his father's genes showed through.

Her son was extremely handsome and Bulma had no problem admitting to it. While he had inherited her coloring, his features were all Saiyan, slanted cat-eyes and high cheekbones that coupled with his newly cropped hair had made fangirls scream themselves raw when they had first exited the limo. But, just as he was Vegeta's son, he was also hers, and her own genes were what made him wrap his arms around her, pulling her in close. He leaned towards her, close enough that she could see the green Super Saiyan specks in his sky-blue eyes, and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. "Once a troublemaker, always a troublemaker," he told her, and Bulma couldn't help but throw her head back and laugh.

Oh, they were a match. Trunks was indeed her son, playing the media at his will, knowing exactly what to give them and when. Indeed, if the social pages ever thought the Briefs name would fade off into the night as Bulma reached her sunset years, well, they had another thing coming. Trunks enjoyed the attention as long as he controlled it, and tonight, well, he was going to play them like a fiddle.

As he moved to approach the reporters, crowding behind the rope line and threatening to overrun the clearly unprepared security staff, Bulma caught sight of the other man in her life. Boy, did Vegeta look good in a suit, mused a part of her that still could not get over just how gorgeous her husband was. Ever-present scowl on his royal temple, arms crossed and a disdainful tilt to his lips, Vegeta stood almost aloof among the exploding flashes, looking as if he had poured into that Armani suit. Bulma knew just how well the camera could capture his taut physique, jacket stretched across delicious biceps just hinting at the muscles within.

Convincing him to come had been an experience. But then again, Bulma craved new experiences. Even at forty-five, that adventurous, thrill-seeker fourteen year old still lived in her, and what could be more adrenaline-pumping than convincing the Prince of Saiyans to come to a red-carpet event? He caught her eye from across the runway, onyx-black pupils shinning. He didn't even move, a Greek statue of peak physical stamina, the widow's peak of his hair looking slightly less pronounced with his shorter hair. She smiled at him, giving him a head nod and a slight boob-shake that only he could catch. She saw his gaze dip, his left eyebrow rising as he noticed the very low cut of her dress for the first time. She had left her cover-up in the limo, wanting to flaunt what years of yoga, exercise and just lucky genetics had blessed her with. She didn't have to hear him to know what he uttered in response, all she had to do was read his lips: "Shameful wench."

Her smiled turned bigger. Not an insult at all, but a secret pet-name, something only he (and Kitty, her dad's little black cat. Who knew cats could be so quiet as to hide from even the Prince of Saiyans. Very easily scared, though, they broke one little table and the thing ran for dear life, yowling like the world was ending. Or maybe that had been her, Bulma couldn't be sure. Being fucked right through a desk did funny things to your memory) and her shared. Damn right she still had it. In her fourth decade, and yet her proud, vicious, devoted Saiyan Prince only had eyes for her.

She saw Vegeta stumble, caught off balance as Bra pulled on his arm. Just another confirmation of how much Bulma could still get under his skin, to distract this paranoid, disciplined warrior from remembering his daughter was by his side.

Bulma watched her daughter now, the spitting image of her younger self save for the same Saiyan cheekbones that Vegeta and Trunks also shared. Her pink and orange dress was a clash of colors, and yet, with her teal tresses caressing her shoulders and a smile bright enough to obscure the cameras, her daughter pulled it off. Bra was also a media baby, knowing exactly when to pose and when to smile. Offers for modeling and high-brand representation were a dime-a-dozen, and now, watching her twirl with a dancer's grace and answering questions with a queen's poise, Bulma knew her daughter was destined for great things.

Bra, even more than Trunks, was his father's daughter. Born with a wicked sense of humor, she had quickly learned to be sly and conniving just from watching her father. At times elegant and others sassy, Bra could navigate the public life with ease. She enjoyed the spotlight in ways Trunks and Vegeta never did, understanding the power it granted her and learning every day how to wield it to her advantage. Bra was going to be a force to be reckoned with, Bulma mused, watching that glint in her eye that usually meant all hell was about to break loose. She, very much like Bulma herself, knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to go after it. It was going to make for some very interesting family arguments, Bulma knew, when Bra finally broke it to her father that all that time she had been spending at the Son's home had not been because she was just following Trunks there. Bulma rather thought Goten was still a little immature, but then again, who was she to throw stones? She had invited a murdering maniac into her home when she had been but a few years older than Bra, and that had turned out ok, no?

She shook her head. They do grow up fast, she said to herself, turning to find Trunks offering her his arm. "Shall we? I believe we have entertained the masses for long enough." She took his arm, nodding towards Vegeta and Bra, who were making their way towards them as well. "Indeed. Your father hasn't blown anything up yet, I think this must be a record."

As they began walking down the final stretch of red carpet, Trunks looked behind them and tsked. "The night is still young, and I think they just asked him who does his surgery work, it looks so flawless."

Bulma snorted. "Good thing we came insured, then."


End file.
